


shit. lets get screwed (and the bombs™ are falling on the streets)

by Caracalliope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, F/M, Fingerfucking, Friendship/Love, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: AU: Dave and Rose escaped from Crocker, mostly unharmed. The Rebellion continues and Rose needs help falling asleep.
Relationships: Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider/Roxy's Mom | Alpha Rose Lalonde
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	shit. lets get screwed (and the bombs™ are falling on the streets)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LookingForDroids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookingForDroids/gifts).



> ❤🌹

Both of you were scarred and tired, and what you thought was, i cant believe we got out of the cake dungeons alive, i want to make you come so hard youll forget about how her minions made us watch her bacchanal executions, listen, i just want to wreck you into looking relaxed and disdainful again, the untouchable queen of gothfuckery, and then ill send photos to crocker because she cant touch either of us anymore, all she can do is look at how bright you are and stew in her bitterness, she can bouillabaisse in it. You imagined you'd take it slow, let your lust unfold, elegant but relentless like jpeg dominoes toppling over in a transcendental-ass pattern. 

But Rose curled up on the dusty safehouse bed and what she said was:  
'Tis a consummation, devoutly to be wish'd. To fuck, to sleep;  
To sleep: perchance to See: ay, there's the rub - here specifically, Dave, give me your hand -  
For in that sleep of post-coitus what Seer-dreams may come  
Will give us a fucking clue how to continue with the rebellion.

In the Crockercorp dungeon complex, Rose didn't sleep. _Wouldn't_ sleep, at first, while she was drying out and desperate not to betray Roxy's existence (or Dirk's, an afterthought for Rose but no less protected for it). But Betty had her fins full of rebels, and you slipped away together - a ballet of Timing and foreSight - before she arrived to interrogate you for real.

Safe now, exhausted, you were promoted to Rose Lalonde's sleeping aid, the great Dave SBAHJ Strider with your lips on her collarbones, hand exactly where she wanted it. You could be patient for her, thorough past the point where she came once, came twice, and finally started to beg for more. Going down on her would have more lastingly fixed that flat echo of fear and emptiness, but you were the decision-maker that night and she needed to be quieted by your hand.

She woke up past noon and you kissed the sharp edge of her left eyebrow. What she'd dream-Seen was: the Sun has green eyes and sharp teeth, and she will cut through the smog and land among us. Her son was crucified by Crocker but the Sun brought him back and they both gleam now and what you asked was what, are we getting saved by icarjesus and a celestial body. Rose didn't know the answer, but she took over the decisions for the day.


End file.
